If Only
Phoebe's hands gripped at the shower handle, turning it slowly, as to not make much noise and wake up the rest of her family, or what seemed to be left of it, for it was two thirty in the morning and she wasn't supposed to be up. She slipped off her shorts and baggy t-shirt as she waited for the temperature to rise to a steaming hotness that would probably result in her skin going an irritated pink, but she didn't care, or she didn't want to. She kept her undergarments on, for it was more of a rainstorm than an actual shower, as she slipped into the glass container and drenched herself in the water, it hitting her like small, skinny, mostly painless bullets. Phoebe's mind tried to convince her to move out of the water's path, its heat hurting her more than one would believe, but there was a part of her who wanted to stay, so she did, looking down at her legs which were slowly turned a dark, splotchy pink. She didn't have to look to know that her chest was slowly starting to resemble that, for she just had to reach up and touch the skin to feel its irritation, her mind immediately becoming furious with itself for letting this happen. Yet, at the same time, it didn't seem to mind at all, but she, with all too quick of a movement that resulted in her partially punching the tile behind it, moved to turn the handle back down just in the slightest, but it didn't help anything but her go to ease. Phoebe sighed, slowly sinking down to the bottom of the glass chamber, before she moved to rest her head against the wall of it, no matter how much she felt it want to give way. She felt the little bullets of water less here, but she felt even more drenched with them, nonetheless, which was why she liked it down here rather than up there. Unfortunately, she felt the lack of sleep slowly fall over her, and the silver-haired fourteen year old soon drifted into a fairly deep sleep. ••• Phoebe's lips were being tugged up into a huge grin, her family's all doing the same, as they sat at the dining room, with even their mother sitting at one end of the table, opposite their father. She laughed, although stifling it, as her brother slipped some of her oh-so-disgusting broccoli to the large dog under the table, much to her amusement. She heard conversation, but she couldn't catch any of it, as she joked with the twins, trying to get at least one of them to smile, until the lights flickered into darkness. She, in attempt of going for the switch, tried to push herself out of her seat, until she found the lights flicker on and she had to give a horrified scream at the scene she saw. She shielded her eyes, instantly, not wanting to process the gruesome scene of her family sitting at their chairs, blood dripping from their bodies, as they appeared deceased. ••• Phoebe woke up, with a quick, sudden jolt, that resulted in her hitting her head hard against the glass wall. She felt her skin, still irritated and red, becoming that of a pale prune, resulting in her making a small lunge for the shower handle and twisting it all the way to off. Now standing, the girl took a moment to catch her breath, before hopping out of the shower and snatching a towel up. She ignored the coldness her feet felt from the tile on the bare skin, as she wrapped the material around her body, completely ignoring the clothes she had been wearing before, as if they didn't ever exist. She twisted the door knob to the hallway, with the same cautious approach as she had with the shower handle a little over an hour before, her feet hitting the carpet and instantly leaving part of a footprint from the water still on the bottoms of them. Phoebe crossed the hallway, being careful of not stepping on the areas she knew would give out a loud creak, as she passed the rooms her siblings either had moved out of or were currently sleeping their nights away within. She paused, at the door that seemed to haunt her on a regular basis now, before bringing the back of her hand to her neck, then her chin, before it flicked out towards the said wooden structure. She didn't know why she did that. Actually, she didn't know why she did most things right then. She felt her toes, which had nails painted to be jet black, much like the ones on her fingers, grip the carpet, out of either anger or nervousness, before she forced herself to move to the next door and slip inside. Phoebe's eyes flickered over the walls of her room. She needed to update it. She hated the bright blue walls, the frilly white and pink objects decorating it. She glided towards her dresser, dropping the towel in the same movement, with an ease that would suggest she was a ghost, and perhaps if you saw her in the corner of your eye, she would look like one too. She felt her silver hair tickle the sides of her face, as she leaned forward to rummage through her sweaters drawer, or one of them anyways, to find a small tin box, before she glided over to her bed and slipped into the pool of the piercing coldness. Phoebe's fingertips brushed over the cold metal of the tin, before her fingers dug under the lid to pop it off, the sheets muffling the satisfying noise that meant the beginning of the only thing she could do to get past what life had become. She slipped her hand in, her fingers just lightly touching the razors, until she found one that was calling to her, and she gently picked it up, twirling it, before rolling over in the bed, holding the box up high, dangerously tilted towards her face, before she placed it on the side table. Quickly, the girl rolled back into the center of the cold mattress, lying so she could look at the ceiling, her breaths nice and calm. Phoebe had been careful to get white sheets and a white comforter for her bed. She felt it would encourage her to stop. Now, it was the thing driving her to change its color to that of the red fluid moving through her veins and arteries. She found the stupidity of it hilarious, the formerly common smile gracing her lips before fading away again. She laid in her bed, twirling the strip of metal in her hands repeatedly, for moments, until she took one of her pillows, placing it on her stomach as she sat up, using it as a table of sorts to rest her arm on. Phoebe watched her door carefully, half expecting a drunken man to stumble through it and grab her up by the wrists, to shake her as his words grew in volume, before her small body was thrown to the wall, like last time. Perhaps, her brother would peak his head in and tell her to shut up and sleep, not noticing a thing, like usual. She didn't sigh. She wanted to. Yet, there wasn't a sound that escaped her mouth, until the metal hit her wrist, finding the obvious blue tracks the blood ran through, and a small huff of breath moved past her lips. Phoebe's hesitation seemed nonexistent, as it had been. She dug the razor into the surface of her skin, feeling the pain like a bunch of soft kisses from the heavens, pushing it down along the beautiful blue streak, knowing it would end everything. She would miss this. She would miss the ritual of leaving little scars on her hips and thighs. Now, there wasn't a sense of escape or relief, just one goal: to fall asleep forever. She picked up the blade up, like the end of a word in cursive, before going to the next visible one, repeating the process until the feeling of going dizzy took over her. Phoebe's hands shook, as they switched the small device over to the other, repeating her actions again, until she could barely find the strength to sit up, and her body sunk backwards. Then, she gave the surface of her skin a harsh wipe against the fabric of her blanket, moving the pillow from her stomach and instead beside the others. She admired the color of it. She liked it. She found it to be a color that would be found in a fancy restaurant. The silver-haired seventeen year old laughed softly into the surface of the clean pillow behind her. Phoebe felt a wave of the smell of the bodily fluid, finding it so peaceful and relaxing, no matter how messed up that must be. She felt numb, the need to close her eyes slowly coming over her, and she agreed. She couldn't tell much other than the dripping of the thick blood off her forearms, until the door moved open, the sound having becomes familiar to the girl years ago. Phoebe heard whispering, of a male, no older than twenty, and their slow footsteps to her. She couldn't tell what they were saying though. She slowly breathed, but the ability to do such was slowly going away. Suddenly, this blackness, one unlike the one she saw when her eyes closed, overcame her, and she mumbled, "I see the stars, I wasn't told of the stars..." she then felt nothing, heard nothing, saw nothing, for she was gone, even after the male gripped her shoulders and glared at her...for being weak. If only he knew why she had been. If only. Category:Writing